Off the Trail: A Companion to Run
by Euphonemes
Summary: While Judy and Nick are very busy in "Run", they and other characters have some moments that can't be shared in the full story. They aren't necessary for Judy's story, but they're fun pieces that explore something different. These little interesting moments take place away from the public eye and off the campaign trail. A collection of drabbles that serve as a companion to "Run".
1. Chapter 1 - A Little Bit of Blueberry

**_A/N: So I've been working on some drabbles to go with "Run." These short pieces are not necessary for the plot of "Run"; rather, they explore some other points of interest in the story. Since they're not part of Judy's campaign, we can consider these drabbles to be off the campaign trail :)._**

 ** _Some will (hopefully) be funny, others may be more serious. Overall, they're the pieces that didn't have a place in the story but that I think are worth a read :D._**

 ** _Each drabble ties back to a specific chapter in "Run". Though these pieces are not necessary for the plot, it still helps to go and check out that chapter in "Run" first so that these drabbles make sense!_**

 ** _This fic will update in between new posts to "Run"._**

 ** _Hope you enjoy,_**

 ** _Euphonemes_**

* * *

 _Off the Trail_

 _A Little Bit of Blueberry (A Companion to Chapter 4: Part IV)_

Weaving between the crowds of wary mammals was a task made impossible with Izabella Lobos around his arm. Nick ducked and dodged, but all eyes were locked onto the wolf in the fiery sequined dress. She giggled, a breathy and indescribably alluring sound, as each group of mammals they passed was smitten.

Finally, she took initiative and broke away from Nick. This did not surprise the fox; she did not strike him as one who wanted to be tethered. Like a fire to fresh air, she raged ahead, slicing through two clusters of mammals and leaving them shocked in her fiery wake. Nick muttered an apology — and then a few choice expletives — as he followed her.

She dallied long enough for him to reach her in the open. She laughed as he panted and tried to adjust his bow tie (it very nearly came apart in his paws). "So, Mr. Wilde, shall we head to the bar? I'm feeling something with a little bit of blueberry in it." She twirled, and her dress came alive.

He caught his breath only to lose it again. To his own mild surprise, Nick was duly impressed. "Yes; let's."

The bar was only a few steps away and almost all the other partygoers had cleared the space. Here along this nearly empty back wall seemed the place to be to avoid the monsters lurking about the fancy hotel room. The bar was not meant for mammals the size of Nick; he waved his paws and barely got them over the bar top. Mrs. Lobos was easily two heads taller than Nick, but he doubted that to be the reason why she was served so quickly.

Now, Nick was a proud fan of blueberries. Few things in this world could excite him as rapturously as blueberries could. So when he smelled the muddled fruit in her bubbly fuchsia drink, he let out a hum of ecstasy.

He had kept it a quiet hum, but it seemed she had been paying very close attention. Her laugh was soft and inviting. "I adore blueberries as well. I'm especially fond of the ones that start mostly sweet and stay that way right until the end, when the tartness finally punches through. It's really delightful."

Words escaped him as he fantasized about such a perfect blueberry. "Mhm."

"I could get you one of these if you'd like." Her drink's ice clanked against the thick glass of the tumbler.

Any other night, he would've snapped up that offer (and wiggled his way into two or three more free drinks). But tonight was going to be different. "I'm alright. Besides, someone needs to keep an eye on Ms. Hopps."

"Ah, the dedicated manager! That's very noble of you, Mr. Wilde. It's so unlike many of these creatures in this room with us."

"Like a wolf, perhaps?"

Many emotions would not have surprised Nick here; shock, anger, derision, he was ready for just about all of them. Her amusement, however, did catch him by surprise. "Hah! I see. You're not a fan of my husband's, are you?"

Nick thought to say something clever and witty, a real zinger that would leave Mrs. Lobos speechless; instead, with the scent of blueberry still trapped in his snout, he nodded. Well, it was barely a nod, if it could be called that at all. But, Mrs. Lobos seemed to grasp its meaning.

"Good."

"Good?"

"You're not one of the tiresome sycophants who surround him daily. It's rather refreshing." She spun the thin red straw floating in her beverage. "As much as I love Arturo, it's exhausting to pander to his political aspirations. And I'm not even running; I cannot fathom how he must feel."

A sequin on her dress had sprung loose. While the others glittered gold in the room's light, this sequin shimmered with a dazzling emerald color. He felt like he was looking into his own eyes…which wasn't all that bad, all things considered.

"I can understand that, Mrs. Lobos."

"Oh, please, Izabella is just fine." She flashed a gorgeous smile; Nick was left breathless again, but only for a moment. "But I must say: You have been doing a fine job with your candidate. Where did you go to school?"

Nick debated lying his tail off, but something about Izabella drew the truth from him with great ease. "I was never one for book learning…though that wasn't necessarily my choice."

"So you're a street fox through and through, then."

He pinned his ears and snarled. "Hey!"

She was quick to defuse him. "Ah, I don't mean it to be derogatory, Nicholas – may I call you that?" He wasn't sure yet if she may, but he didn't stop her. "It's admirable, actually. What you've done so far, without any real training…you truly have accomplished something impressive."

It was odd. Compliments were not typically bandied about in his presence. And out of anyone in this room, the wife of the politician running against Carrots was certainly not the one to say something nice about Nick. But oddest of all, she sounded genuine when she said it. That brought forth Nick's smile. "Yeah, I have."

Izabella's soft laugh carried well over the noise of the many sycophants chattering away in this room. And for the first time in a long while, Nicholas Wilde was truly at ease. His many late nights tapping away on his phone, the favors he called in for his candidate, the struggles he had faced and the balance he had yet to find, everything left for a fleeting but amazing few moments. Every muscle relaxed as he leaned against the bar (his ears barely grazed the edge of the bar top). _Enough about politics_ , Nick decided as he stared at that lone sequin, which had moved on to a brilliant sapphire hue.

"So, eh, where did you meet Arturo?"

She snatched her drink's straw and stabbed it five times; ice cubes slammed into one another. "At a bar, actually. I was having something with a little bit of blueberry in it." She sipped and smiled.

Frustratingly, it was the type of answer he would give to Carrots. He now saw why she always wanted to pummel him (though that in no way would inhibit him in the future). He figured out what Izabella was trying to do, and he fell for it anyway. "Why him?"

A thought was bubbling on the tip of her tongue; that was plain to Nick (his police training was actually proving useful). But, she reined it back in and smirked instead. "That's a lovely question, Nicholas. Unfortunately, that answer will need to wait. We are being summoned."

Over his shoulder, Nick saw Arturo's paw waving, even though he was still chatting with Judy. Nick was actually quite sad to see that. "Oh, already? Okay then."

"You've been splendid company, Nicholas. I hope to see you again soon."

He had plenty more to say, but as Izabella continued talking about something, Nick watched one particular rabbit's ear flop backward. Invariably, it would make him laugh; even now, in front of Izabella, he was forced to restrain a snicker. It always brought forth a strange combination of feelings that Nick could not clearly express. He simply knew that he liked watching her ear flop backward; everything looked brighter after it happened — including Izabella's stunning dress.

And as Carrots turned the rest of her head toward the bar, he remembered his final task for the evening. "There's, um, something I gotta go do. So, I'll, uh, see you around, I guess?"

It was not his smoothest exit, but it still drew a friendly wave from Izabella Lobos before she settled at the bar, waiting for Arturo Lobos to join her. "In time, Nicholas Wilde. In time."

As he sprinted from the bar, he peeked back over his shoulder. Her scarlet dress was alive, even from clear across the room. Between the sparkling flames that Izabella wore so gracefully, the lone sequin still hung out; it now glinted with an undeniable lavender. That color made him grin the widest.

#


	2. Chapter 2 - The Hundred Yard Dash

**_A/N:_** _So it's been a long week, and I know I'm looking for something to read after having far too much turkey on Thanksgiving (and the day after that, and the morning after that, too :D). As a way to give thanks to all of you amazing readers and reviewers, here's another entry in Off the Trail_ _a couple days early! This one was so much fun to write, and I hope you all enjoy it, too._

 _Also, Run is getting a new cover! The inimitable **Red Velvet Panda** (who you should follow on Tumblr) has crafted a gorgeous poster for Judy Hopps. I'm so excited to share it with all of you! Head on over to the story to check it out._

 _Thank you,_

 _Euphonemes_

* * *

 _Off the Trail_

 _The Hundred Yard Dash (A Companion to Run: Chapter 4: Part V)_

"Come on, Emmitt! You need to get to your book signing!"

His wife's voice carried clearly through the empty house; the kids were being spoiled by Grandma for their second day. The elder Ottertons had the run of the place, and they had thoroughly enjoyed their time together.

Emmitt Otterton couldn't remember the last time he had been so relaxed. Volunteering for Judy's campaign was a joy, but the work consumed a great deal of his time. He had spent little time with his family, something that ate away at him until it could not be ignored any longer. Nick had been very understanding when Emmitt asked for a few days off from volunteer management following Judy's critique circle.

As he bounded down his stairs and rounded the corner, the morning light cast a golden glow around his wife. Her eyes sparkled when he walked into the kitchen. "Do I have to go?"

"Yes, honey. You have _fans_ now, and they want to see you."

 _Never thought I'd see the day_. His book deal had been lucrative, but attached to the financial windfall was an expectation of public appearances. He now had an image to maintain; that was not Emmitt Otterton's strongest area. Fortunately, his publisher had trained staff to ease him into the role of visible author. Unfortunately, this meant demands on his time would appear with little notice. The call last night for the book signing today served as a great example.

"Fine. And you really don't want to come with me?"

"Oh, I do. But, I can't; I have plans already."

This was news to Emmitt. "Plans?"

She laughed. He loved her laugh: the way it bubbled up from her belly and how she would try to restrain it even though the bubbles would always sneak out as her eyes closed and her shoulders shook. Whenever he was nervous or when things went awry, he would stop and remember her laugh.

"No need to be protective, Emmitt. I'm meeting Marlene and Beatrice. We're doing some shopping — a few knick-knacks."

The two ferrets were his wife's good friends. They could be a little hectic at times when they all gathered; Emmitt was polite but kept his distance. And as he studied her, he caught the mischievous glint in her eye. His birthday was approaching, and she had been subtly dropping hints to tease out gift ideas. To be honest, he had almost forgotten about his birthday; the campaign had been all-consuming.

He decided not to press further; plus, the book signing would be starting soon, and traffic could be a beast this time of day. "Alright, honey, you enjoy that, and I'll see you later."

"Great! I'll walk you out."

They held paws as they walked to the front door. She must have bought a new shampoo or more conditioner because the fine fur on her paw was incredibly soft. Emmitt thought to inquire further but stopped in case he was wrong. There hadn't been much time to hold that paw before this break, and even during the past three days, he hadn't paid much attention to it. Now, he suddenly wished he had.

Luckily, when they passed through the doorway together, she was ready to shove him off the porch. "Alright my lovebug, go and make your fans proud!"

He smiled. Even though he didn't smile as often as he'd like to, his wife had confessed that it was her favorite feature of his. He didn't particularly care for it; he thought his front teeth were a little crooked and that the whole set could use a whitening procedure or five. But, after he had been torn away from her that fateful day a year ago, he had made a point to smile a lot more.

"Okay, dear. I lo— uh, who's that on the sidewalk?"

"Where?" He spun her around and pointed toward a spot in the distance. A figure lumbered down the concrete slabs that compose their sidewalk. He came to her side and watched as she squinted. "Hmm, I'm not sure."

He joined her in squinting and had a small epiphany. "It looks like a sloth, I think."

It seemed likely; its arms, covered in shaggy fur, dragged low, where its lengthy claws would occasionally snap as they connected with the rough sidewalk. In silence, they watched it take twenty seconds to cross the next slab of concrete.

"Oh yeah, that's a sloth alright." Emmitt puzzled. _The DMV is in the other direction. Where is it going?_

His wife, however, arrived at an answer much more quickly — she had always been the smarter one (or so Emmitt told her…but really, it was the truth). "Didn't Nick say he was inviting a sloth?"

"To what?"

"Our little critique circle for Judy."

And then Emmitt remembered. "Yes, that's right…oh, Flash! That must be Flash!"

Emmitt had met Flash before at one of his first book signings. It turned out that Flash was an avid reader and loved Emmitt's book. The laborious process the sloth went through to read that book made him quite the scholar on Emmitt's work. Flash would produce some incredibly detailed facts and opinions and would want to discuss them at length with Emmitt; they usually only got through one per day, but it was usually an intelligent conversation.

But in this moment, as he would soon be running late for his signing, Emmitt so did not want that to be the mammal walking down his street.

His wife covered her mouth with her paw; it was adorable whenever she was surprised. "Well, if he's here for the circle, he's…what, a few days late?"

Emmitt counted backward in his head. "Uh, try a week, dear."

"Oh, my." She turned back and watched Flash torturously cross another slab. "How far is it to our doorstep from that spot on the sidewalk?"

Numbers were Emmitt's thing. He examined a host of factors and data — his front porch, the lawn, the size of each slab of concrete, the position of the vehicles parked along the road — and arrived at a decent estimate. "I'd say…about a hundred yards."

"Maybe he should have parked closer."

"Maybe when he parked, he couldn't. Didn't our neighbors have a party last night?"

He could hear her hum. "I think you're right. Though, honestly, I wasn't paying much attention to them." She ran her paw along Emmitt's forelimb; he rather liked that.

And as much as he desired to take her back inside the house at this very moment, duty called. "So I'd _love_ to stay, but, um…."

"Yes, dear, I'll entertain him while you trot off to your book signing. Do you think there's time for me to make a pot of coffee?"

"My dear, you could make it, finish it, and make another before he reaches our lawn."

"Now, be nice, Emmitt!" Her slap was playful but admonishing. "I'll go get it started. See if you can talk to him from here."

"Wha— _me_? But I—"

"Talk to him, Mr. Otterton."

As she disappeared back into her home, Emmitt Otterton racked his brain. He didn't want to be mean; Flash was a true and loyal fan. Soon, Emmitt would be seated in front of a line of half-fans, those who just skimmed his book or wanted his signature so they could resell their copy and take home some extra cash. Their mendacity would sometimes break his heart; Flash honestly made things better.

But, those conversations on details would require more time than he could commit right now. He needed a way out. His wife had said she would entertain Flash for a while, but he intuited that she expected Emmitt to stay a while to ease any awkwardness. His wife had met Flash before, too, at one of the signings; however, she still required a few daylong conversations before she really understood how the sloth thought things through.

And so, with little time to spare, Emmitt Otterton devised a truly devious plan, one that would fulfill his wife's prerequisite that he speak to Flash and buy him the space he needed to get to the book signing. He needed everything to go swimmingly, lest he be trapped in a conversation that would continue into tomorrow.

Emmitt must have been stewing for a while; when he looked up, Flash was nearly halfway through the lawn. It would be a matter of a minute (or maybe two or three) until he was upon the house. That was when Emmitt heard the patter of his wife's feet on their new hardwood flooring.

He timed it perfectly; his wife set one foot out the door when he shouted out, "Hey, Flash! It's good to see you again."

Now, Mrs. Otterton was indeed very smart; Emmitt knew she would figure out his plan momentarily. He checked around his clothing for his keys — which was something he probably should have done before he executed his plot. Today, fortune smiled upon him as he heard them jangling in his pants pocket.

From the porch, Emmitt watched Flash's face begin to brighten. "…Hi!"

He could feel the heat intensifying on his neck; his wife was beginning to deduce it.

"…Emmitt…"

Like her laugh, she always tried to hide her gasps…well, _almost_ always; this one was loud and clear. Emmitt set a foot off the porch and onto his lawn's manicured grass.

"…how…"

He yelled out over his shoulder as his feet took off. "Gotta go, honey!"

"…nice…"

He couldn't hide his ploy from her now. And she was livid; she only ever used his full name when her anger reached its bursting point. "Emmitt Otterton: Get back here!"

"…to…"

The grass crunched underfoot as he walked speedily (running would be entirely rude) to his car parked along the curb, near the spot where he had first seen Flash. Even if his eyeball measurement was off, it sure felt like one hundred yards. As Emmitt moved, Flash's voice receded; his wife's voice did not.

"…see…"

His car chirped as he hit the unlock button on his key. Her shrill tone was much higher than any sound his car could create. "Emmitt!"

"… _you_ …"

He had never opened and closed a door so quickly in his life. When he bought his car, he had let the salesmammal talk him into special soundproofing for the car's cabin. His wife had protested, but something in the very back of his mind said to splurge on it. That part of his brain cheered jubilantly at present.

Though the cabin was soundproofed, the windows would not block out the lethal glare she gave him. Very slowly, Flash's body was eclipsing her eyes; her pupils never wavered as they eventually disappeared behind the shaggy fur of the sloth. But, just before they vanished entirely, he looked directly at her and made sure she could read his lips; it was the best he could do as he started the car.

"Love ya, dear."

 _#_


	3. Chapter 3 - Wouldn't That Be Something?

_A/N: Okay, finally, I think this chapter is in an alright spot =_=. So, when I started Off the Trail, I wasn't sure if I would have these little drabbles proceed directly in line with the story (as in, the next drabble would correspond to the latest "Run" chapter) or not. I've decided they will not. So, this story circles back to Chapter 4: Part III (in case it's confusing) and explores how Judy's parents feel about this whole thing. I hope you enjoy!_

 _Thank you to the most recent reviewers, **Berserker88** and **Cimar of Turalis Wildehopps** for your thoughts! I'm glad y'all thought the Ottertons were fun (I had a blast writing that one). I think this chapter is a bit softer and sweeter._

 _And thanks to all of you who read! I hope this brings a smile to your day :D._

 _Happy reading - Euphonemes_

* * *

 _Off the Trail_

 _Chapter 3 - Wouldn't That Be Something?_

 _A Companion to Chapter 4: Part III_

"Well, geez, Bonnie, did ya have to hang up so quickly?"

Bonnie's soft paw enfolded the phone as the screen went dark. And Stu's enfolded hers. Stu enjoyed holding her paw very much. Usually, one child or another would break apart their hold. Sometimes, the little ones would run squarely into their parents' forelimbs; and, sometimes they would shout at each other and pull their ears until their parents had to disconnect so they could intervene.

But after Judy had disappeared from the screen, the children who had watched her begin to make history had scattered, their laughs and jeers floating away down the hall. Bonnie and Stu stood in their kitchen, a little dumbfounded at the total silence that greeted their ears. Silence had never been a mainstay at the Hopps household and, to be perfectly frank, Bonnie and Stu had no clue what to do with it.

Eventually, Bonnie spoke up; Stu knew that she could never leave his questions alone. "Did you have something you wanted to tell her? I thought we were pretty thorough, dear."

Stu sheepishly kicked at a kitchen floorboard, which sent up a plume of fine dust. Later, he knew that she would reprimand him for tracking so much dirt in from the field. "Well, I wanted to tell her what a great job she's been doing. And how proud she makes us."

"But you said that five times, Stu!"

"Maybe the sixth time is the one she needed the most."

Bonnie set down the phone on the kitchen counter; Stu waited for a moment before again wrapping his paw around hers. He twitched as he studied her with eyes that flicked between the thousands of strands of fur on her face. Her free paw held his cheek. "She knows it, Stu. She was the one who always listened to you."

He smiled; thinking of dear Jude always made him happy. "I know. Wish I could say the same about our other ones, though." Her paw slipped off his face as he peered around the quiet house. His brow split into furrows deeper than the ones for the carrots planted beyond the wood-trimmed kitchen window. "Speaking of which: Where _did_ the children go?"

Her laugh was softer than her paw (which was certainly not easy to accomplish). "Oh, who knows, Stu. They just go off on their own now…though I suppose that was always the case. They've forever had minds of their own."

He thought of the last time he attempted to teach forty of their children how to properly till a field. It ended up being quite a fascinating exercise as Stu learned forty new ways to dig up the dirt. But perhaps the most interesting way to do it had been Judy's: don't do it at all. He remembered how she would pick at loose clods in a vain effort to make it look like work. She certainly wasn't lazy; it just simply didn't interest her. She always forged her own path, which simultaneously terrified and pleased Stu. "Yep. And I think our Judy is just about the best example of that."

"She's a good one."

Stu was ready to agree, but a sudden evening chill blew through the open kitchen window, whose old rusted hinges creaked in the gusts. He felt Bonnie shiver; he wrapped her under his forelimb, closer to his chest. Even with Bonnie nuzzling him, the cold did touch his nerves, and he began to worry. "I mean…am I the only one who's nervous for her?"

Bonnie playfully slapped his belly. "When have you _not_ been nervous for her?"

He took it as the compliment that it was and continued. "But this is different, Bonnie. It was hard enough when she told us she would be a city police officer. But mayor… of the _whole city_ …."

It was curious how quickly Bonnie answered him; Stu wondered how long she had been waiting to deliver her thoughts (likely, she had started mulling it over long before Stu got around to it). "And she will do a phenomenal job, Stu. We raised her well. She's a good rabbit – just like her father."

The wind calmed, and the creaking of the old hinges on the window stopped. It was silent once again. Stu was happy to say nothing to spoil this moment. While holding Bonnie closely, he thought of his little girl, how his paws used to slip so easily under her forelimbs. He would always lift her when she tumbled off the porch while playing cops-and-robbers with her siblings or when she jumped off the couch just a little higher as she tried to break her own record. These days, his paws had trouble slipping around her so easily; yet, he would always be there to pick her back up, to keep her going so she could jump just a little higher.

"Yep, we did alright, Bonnie."

They soaked in the silence for a minute more and thoroughly enjoyed the brief reprieve from the world around them. Stu would have been happy never to end it; Bonnie got thing moving. "Now then, Mr. Hopps. I believe it's time we gather our children. It's time we really talk to them about what Judy is doing."

Some of the older ones (most of whom were of voting age) had chimed into the discussion over the phone in a cacophony of jeers of sibling rivalry and cheers of support; however, most of the little ones had been distracted by a fun thing on television or the swaying grasses outside. Stu thought it was a bit of a shame: Judy sounded so smart when she talked. Though Stu was no slouch and figured he had taught her a few things, he could tell that she had grown considerably since her time in Bunnyburrow. He wondered how much of her knowledge and skills came from living in the city as long as she had, and how much came from the mammals who were helping her out. "You are very right. Maybe we should warn them about Nick, too? Y'know, in case they come for a visit?"

Bonnie tensed; he could feel her absolute disdain for his suggestion (Judy visiting, that is). "Stu, Judy can't take that much time away! She wouldn't know what to do with herself." She relaxed just a bit. "And with Nick…let's cross that bridge if we get to it, okay?"

Stu had taken a liking to Nick; Bonnie seemed to have as well, though perhaps her sentiments were a little more tempered. It was funny, he thought, as he had always been the jumpier one around foxes. But something about Nick just felt right. Though, as he looked into Bonnie's eyes, he realized she was probably more concerned with how the children would feel about Nick. Stu thought they'd be perfectly fine, but now was not the time to argue. Children had to be gathered, after all, and potentially scaring them away with stories of foxes would be ear-pullingly frustrating right now. He sighed as he reluctantly let go of Bonnie. "Okay. Well, then, let's round 'em up."

"I'll sound the dinner bell – that usually gets them running, even if it's a little later than usual." Her soft laugh made him smile. Really, everything she did made him smile, but her laugh was imbued with a special quality that he adored. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek before he started wandering down the hall.

"Y'know, Bonnie," he shouted over his shoulder as he neared the first wayward gaggle of children, "when those city folk first started talking about annexing Bunnyburrow way back when, their big thing was that mammals like us would have a stronger voice in the government…that we might even get ourselves a Bunnyburrow-born mayor." He picked up one of the youngest children; Stu's paws slipped so easily under his forelimbs. "But I think our Jude will do it on her own."

"Wouldn't that be something?" arose Bonnie's increasingly harried voice from the kitchen. He smelled boiling carrots; she had actually put on a pot of soup to get the kids moving.

In the hallway, Stu felt the breeze pick up again. Bubbling carrot soup intermingled with freshly tilled earth. He savored the aroma as he played with the young one on his lap; the young one's laughter was soft, like his mother's. "Yep, that'd be something, alright."

#


	4. Chapter 4 - Nothing That Can't Be Fixed

**_A/N:_** _Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and all that good stuff! I have just enough time today to post this next drabble entry._

 _For this entry, I'm doing something a little different. While this is set after the events in Chapter 5: Part I of "Run", you're actually getting a sneak peek of the upcoming "Run" section! There's a little scene in "Run" that will make sense even if you don't read this but will have a more special meaning if you do. This one was fun to write (I hesitated going back to Bunnyburrow so soon, but I really liked this idea), so I hope you enjoy it!_

 _Thanks to **Berserker88** , **HawkTooth** , and **Cimar of Turalis WildeHopps** for your reviews! I love getting your feedback on these little drabbles._

 _And thank you to all of you who read, fave, and follow!_

 _Happy reading,_

 _Euphonemes_

* * *

 _Off the Trail_

 _Nothing That Can't Be Fixed (_ _A Companion to Chapter 5: Part I)_

"How do you turn this thing on? Blasted remote control…."

Not many of Bunnyburrow's residents would willingly spend a whole morning in a pie shop, especially as the town neared harvesting season. Fretful farmers would rather be pacing their tilled patches of earth than slicing into a sweet rhubarb dessert with a dollop of vanilla ice cream on top. Fortunately for Gideon Grey and the future prospects for his little storefront shop, retirees who had seen year after year of carrots and whatnot were plenty tired of the fields and were happy to occupy the four wrought-iron tables in his café-style dining area.

Of course, the elderly guests presented their own challenges. "Here, let me," Gideon said as he stifled his laugh and swiped the remote from the rabbit who had to be the oldest in all of Bunnyburrow. The television set was brand new (Gideon's apple-blueberry combination was outselling his wildest expectations), and even he had trouble getting it started. Basic cable was spotty at best out here, and satellite signals got lost in the tall meadow grasses between farmers' fields, so Gideon stuck with the old-fashioned (and much cheaper) airwaves. His patrons didn't seem to mind; maybe having only five channels reminded them of rosier days.

The rabbit was quick to give Gideon a gravelly shout once the set came alive. "Put on the news, Grey! I wanna see what's goin' on with Stu and Bonnie's kid."

When it came to bunnies, Gideon would usually need to ask which child a rabbit was referring to. But, as he got to know Stu and Bonnie through the pie shop and heard all about their _many_ children, Gideon had a pretty strong feeling that he knew which one the retiree was talking about. Three clicks of the channel button, and, sure enough, there was her face splashed on the screen. It seemed surreal sometimes. Gideon had grown accustomed to seeing Judy Hopps on television now, as she continued doing all sorts of newsworthy things. He had watched her wrap up that Night Howler business and then go on a kind of celebratory tour, hitting up a late-night show here and a news interview there. That had all been impressive in its own right but, of course, with where she was now as a candidate for _mayor_ , Gideon knew she had really come a long way.

"Ah, good, leave it here! She's startin' to look jus' like her mom…hey, Grey, didn't ya used to pick on that little girl?"

Gideon's paw tightened around the remote control. His memories from his youth were still as crystal clear as the picture on the television, even after all those years. Time had calmed an angry kit, but it had also delivered pain to an older (and supposedly _wiser_ ) fox. He could almost feel what Judy had felt as his actions had left their scars. Invariably, he winced at those thoughts, just as Judy first winced at him when she briefly returned home to try and fail to be a normal bunny. Gideon had to hide the look that scrunched his face from the prying eye of the retired rabbit.

"That was a long time ago."

The old bunny cackled. "Hmm, yeah, bet yer kickin' yer own bee-hind now, ain't ya?"

His free paw brushed out the wrinkles of his favorite apron with the smiling pie. Now, Gideon wasn't ashamed or regretful of his chosen profession, as he loved making pies and always felt fulfilled when he closed up shop every evening. But, Judy had accomplished so many amazing things already. She had brought something special to what it meant to be a resident of Bunnyburrow that all the apple-blueberry pies in the world could not manage. Gideon was not sour about anything; yet, on quiet nights when he was sweeping away loose grains of flour, he wondered how he would fare should he brave the concrete jungle of Zootopia as Judy had done before him.

Though, if he wanted to take the chance, perhaps Judy would be on his side. After their paths crossed again — and they patched up a lot of broken history — she had smiled at him, and it had been kind. That brought a smile to Gideon's face in his shop as he remembered, and he relaxed his paw that was still wrapped around the remote control. He finally waved away the old rabbit's comment and started back toward his counter. "It's fine, it's all fine."

That made the bunny laugh louder. "Sure, sonny, whatever you say. Aw, turn it up now! Can't hear nothin'."

Over his shoulder, Gideon boosted the set's volume to almost-full blast. The first time he did that, Gideon had to give up making pies for a day because the noise from the television was too distracting. These days, he had gained a very valuable ability to tune out the warbling from whatever show or news program the guests desired to watch (as well as the peculiar commentary that his guests would banter back and forth with).

But today, the old's rabbit's muttered comment caught Gideon's ear. "Well, I'll be…looks like she's gone and had herself a bad day."

Gideon had just about taken position behind the register when he let his eyes float up to the television. It looked like some news bulletin or another, though the text scrawling along the bottom of the image was pretty small from where he stood. "What do you mean?"

"Take a look for yerself."

He thought about arguing with the old rabbit and convincing him to read it. But, his guest was liable to make a mistake (or grumble about it the whole time), and Gideon, who was suddenly growing more anxious by the second, did not want to start that battle. After swinging back around the counter and dodging the old doe who ordered strawberry meringue every day, he was within range of the screen. The words felt familiar as he read them, and he tried to place one particular name.

"Kyle Mansoa…rings a bell. Wait, wasn't that the guy Judy was investigating? He had gone missing or something?"

"Mhm. Guess someone else found 'im first. She made some speech about it, but they ain't showin' it."

What they did show was the face of an utterly devastated Judy Hopps. Her smile was gone, and the frown in its place was horrendous. Gideon winced at her look, very nearly the same one she had given him many years ago as he put her in the dirt. He hadn't been sure what to make of the look then, but now…he turned away from the television. "That doesn't seem like the right thing to do."

The old rabbit never looked away from the screen while he scoffed. "Welcome to politics, sonny. Real shame there. I figured she was made for that mayor job."

Gideon's elderly guest sounded so defeated; the shopkeeper couldn't let that stand. As Gideon processed the news bulletin, something was warming his belly — more than a fresh slice of pie could do. "She's still got a shot."

The rabbit did not seem moved. "Well, she better get goin' on it then. This ain't gonna be lookin' too good for her."

The news channel was lingering on that particular image of Judy frowning, which to Gideon was something alien. He had seen Judy frown — he had caused that frown before — but it was usually laced with grit. It had been the frown of a bunny who was so ready to get back up and into the fight again. But now, on the television, she simply looked…sad. "It must be so tough, dealing with all of that when you're so far away from home."

The old rabbit nodded and ran his paw along the table, nearing knocking off his fork (this had been happening with alarming frequency, and Gideon was starting to wonder if he should mention it to the bunny). "Yessir, I think yer right — mmm, but right now, I can smell those apple-blueberry pies from all the way over here, Grey. You oughta go pull'em outta the oven…and cut me a slice while yer at it, heh."

"Oh, sure, I'll grab a fresh one for you." Gideon slipped the remote control into the front pouch of his apron and tightened the apron's strings that ran behind his back. Slicing into a freshly baked pie was perhaps the most wonderful feeling in the world, and he was ready to take out some of this rapidly rising…what? _Anger?_ His eyes had trapped Judy's frown, and the picture of her sad face inflamed something in Gideon with every step he took toward the counter and the door to the kitchen behind it.

He could smell the pies, too (he really thought they were heavenly, even after he had baked the same thing several thousand times). Those pies always drew out a memory of Gideon sitting by himself near the pond that bordered his family's land, where he would snack on two dozen blueberries at a time and watch the sunset paint the water in glorious golds. For him, the pies were home.

And like that, Gideon Grey knew exactly what to do. "Hey, I know what she needs!" he shouted to himself as anger turned to action, and he hopped over the counter and bounded into the kitchen.

When he emerged a minute later, Gideon had in one paw the slice for his guest and in the other a neatly wrapped box, warmed by the freshly baked pie within. Inside the box, he had placed a short note for this package's recipient. That frown did not suit her; with this little gift, Gideon would help her smile again. _There's nothing that can't be fixed with a little pie._

He dropped off the slice of pie at the eager rabbit's table and paused just long enough to mention he was leaving. "I'm going to go run this over to the post office. Watch the store for a few minutes, okay?"

As Gideon tucked the box snugly under his forelimb and trotted out the door, he heard the gravelly voice of the old bunny. "Awful nice gesture, Grey. You're not so bad after all. But when you get back, be ready to cut me another slice of that pie. Gotta get ready for my afternoon shows…and make sure this dagnabbin' television is workin', too!"

Gideon couldn't help but smile.

#


	5. Chapter 5 - Safe Keeping

**_A/N:_** _Hi, everyone! It's been a busy month for me so far, and I'm a little behind with this fic and "Run". But, I do have a new drabble to share with you all today! I hope you enjoy it._

 _My thanks to **Combat Engineer, HawkTooth, Cimar of Turalis WildeHopps,** and **Berserker88** for your reviews. It's very good to know how much everyone liked the pie (which made me hungry while writing it, of course XD)._

 _And thank you to everyone who reads, faves, and follows! It means a lot to me that you spend your time reading this._

 _Happy reading ~ Euphonemes_

* * *

 _Off the Trail_

 _Chapter 5: Safe Keeping (_ _A Companion to Run: Chapter 5: Part III)_

The blinds were still drawn, even though the glare from the sun was long gone. Nights in Zootopia brought their own colors: deep blues of neon signs, bright yellows of other mammals burning the midnight oil, and the flashing reds of brake lights as the cruisers pulled into the motor pool to rest for tonight. But Chief Bogo was not one for resting; that was fortunate, as he would find none this evening.

Sparks still popped from the hole in the television screen. He had known it would be a huge mistake to keep that box on, to let more lies about his officer poison the air. Part of him had liked punching a hoof through the black screen and tearing out the wires and transistors that had forced him to watch the terribly saddened face of Hopps; another part of him dreaded the paperwork he would need to file tomorrow morning.

For tonight, though, he reveled in the silence…or, more accurately, he _had_ reveled. Most of the precinct had gone home — he, Fangmeyer, and a few others had pulled the onerous duty of the night shift. Without the usual warm (if annoying) sounds of radios blaring, computers clacking, and cops chattering, this grand hall of justice was cold in the quiet. While Bogo was the first to complain about distracting noises, he missed it right now. Anything (save for another newscast) would be good to distract him from the two shiny badges sitting on his desk.

Procedure dictated that he log them with the quartermaster, who would then take these badges into his cage and lock them away for safe keeping. Bogo had taken his time in heading to the basement, so much so that the quartermaster had gone home hours ago, leaving the chief responsible for the badges until morning. Under the soft light of his desk lamp's incandescent bulb, each piece of gilded metal glimmered, even when the shadow of a pensive Bogo covered them.

He had taken one of these badges before. And though he hadn't shown it, it had hurt. Watching a dream die was truly awful, and in the eyes of Officer Hopps, with tears rimming the edges, it had been brutal. Luckily, she had proven smarter than her adversaries and had returned, her triumph brightening the lavender in those obscenely big bunny eyes. And though he couldn't show it, it had made him smile.

This time, those obscenely big bunny eyes had looked worse, even after he tried to smile. Her dream hadn't died, but it had mutated. It had been transformed by her campaign, by the cruelty of the animals she had sworn to protect in the same oath that Bogo had taken those many years ago. She couldn't hide her tears this time, and Bogo watched them stream down her cheeks as she relinquished her glimmering badge.

He should have been angry at her — he had every reason to be angry. He had entrusted Officer Hopps with this important case, and she had sat in the chair right across from him and assured him she could handle it. He had considered stepping in when she nearly fell asleep at her desk, that carrot pen abandoning the paper form and rolling onto the floor. But, Bogo had trusted Hopps to get the job done…and it had been a long time since she had failed him so badly.

Despite the circumstances that should have sent fire coursing through his veins, Bogo could not get angry at Officer Hopps. He had taken a peek at her spot in the precinct and saw the leads littering a normally pristine desktop. She and the fox had chased down everything they could. More focus would have been better…but maybe this case would have been too much for _any_ officer. The rabbit and the fox were the best choices; Bogo was confident in his decision. Maybe there was something _he_ missed in all of this. Maybe there was more to this case than Bogo had first suspected. _Wouldn't that make the fox happy?_

"Ah, yes, the fox…" Bogo grumbled as he spun the other badge. Nothing should have brought greater joy to the chief than wiping away that fox's smug smirk. Those teeth of his had haunted these halls —Bogo's halls — with a determination that could almost be admirable. But when it came to being an officer in Bogo's precinct, Wilde lacked the vision, the _grit_ …or so the chief had thought.

Now in the cold halls, Bogo was having a hard time picturing his precinct any other way. As a cadet, Wilde had been challenging (he had seen the reports on the hippo-cherry bomb incident: "totally unfounded," Wilde had claimed). And he had brought along a lot more baggage than many other officers. Yet, there was something special about the fox, and though Bogo would never — really, _never_ — say it aloud, there was almost something respectable about Wilde.

And so, Bogo stared at the two badges on his desk. He stared until his eyes crossed and he couldn't discern the edges of golden shields from the boring muted color of his desk and let it all blend together. Right then and there, he desperately wanted another TV to punch.

Three quick knocks rattled the glass pane in his door. Each officer had a distinctive manner of knocking on the door to the chief's office. From the tremulous taps of Clawhauser to the hammering blows of Higgins (and even the whisper-quiet slithering in of Wilde), the chief never needed to look up from his desk to greet the entrant. He stared intently at the badges as he waved a hoof at the door. "Come in, Fangmeyer."

When he did look up, Bogo found the striped set of ears and the snout but not much else. "Uh, Chief?" A little more of Fangmeyer emerged, but he wouldn't commit to entering Bogo's office; one foot was securely planted behind the door. "Just wanted to…whoa, what's going on there?" An inquisitive paw pointed toward the television set, which was anemically spurting out sparks.

"It blew a fuse."

It didn't matter that Fangmeyer didn't believe his chief, though Fangmeyer did make an admirable attempt to hide it. This was when Bogo suspected that his officer was about to ask for something unorthodox. "Uh-huh, right, sir. So, um, Wolford wrapped up his work and went home a few hours ago. And, I was wondering…see, I wouldn't normally ask, but I have this…. "

Invariably, that's how all of these requests began: "I wouldn't _normally_ ask." This particular excuse had popped up quite often during Bogo's tenure (with a disproportionate amount coming from Wilde, if the chief thought about it), and typically, Bogo had plenty of fortitude to annihilate those requests. Work needed to be done — the city needed to be secure, after all — and his officers had taken an oath to do their part for the betterment of Zootopia.

But tonight…things were different. Bogo let his eyes drift away from Fangmeyer, and they landed on the TV, which had finally given up its fruitless attempts to transmit terrible images. He had watched and listened to one of his officers, one of the finest in the city, be torn apart while he had sat in his chair and twirled around her badge. It was a city she had helped pull from the brink of destruction just a year ago, and it had turned so quickly against her. And Bogo turned that oath over and over again in his head, and he wondered how much each word really meant to him.

For what it was worth, Fangmeyer humored his boss. Bogo had gotten lost in his thoughts, staring at the gold in the two badges while the tiger still hid behind the door. Normally, Bogo would have given a snort, which would have been more than enough to tell Fangmeyer to go back to his desk. But tonight…things would be different. "Go."

The look of surprise on Fangmeyer's face was truly priceless. Had Bogo's phone not died an hour ago, the photograph would have been his new wallpaper. "What's that, sir?"

A tad irked that he would need to explain it, the chief required a deep and very loud breath to steady himself. "It's quiet around here. So, whatever it is, go take care of it. Keep your radio on in case something happens."

Bogo's ear flicked as he caught the sound of Fangmeyer's foot shuffling back from the door — a little too eager for the chief's taste, truth be told. "Are you sure about—"

"Go. Before I change my mind." An ultimatum was more like the chief.

And Fangmeyer knew it. With rather inspiring precision, he saluted his chief (as best he could from behind the door) and belted out a "Yessir!"

The door barely made a sound as it latched behind a fleeing Fangmeyer. The tiger was a good officer, and Bogo probably would have let him leave anyway. But, there was an appealing attribute to getting Fangmeyer to scurry — it wasn't meant to be _mean_ , but more like motivating. And as motivated feet pattered away from his office, Bogo could only focus on the two badges still glimmering on his desk. Now that he was alone with them, he wasn't entirely sure what to do.

He thought of leaving them at the quartermaster's station (there _was_ a drop box near the cage where everything was kept), but a little voice in his head piped up and told him to hang on until morning. He often listened to that voice. Now, it _had_ told him to trust Hopps and Wilde, and as a result, their badges sat on his desk. But, it also said that the two of them would need these badges back very soon.

The gold shields slipped easily into his shirt's breast pocket (his monstrously oversized shirt could be useful at times). He patted them while staring at the TV, which had finally given up its efforts and lay quiet and still. Tonight, that made him smile.

 _#_

* * *

 _Last Update: 1/16/17_


	6. Chapter 6 - Old Habits Die Hard

_**A/N** : Hello, fellow Zootopians! I have another drabble for you. I've been waiting to hop into this guy's head for a while now, so let me know what you think :)._

 _Thanks to **Combat Engineer, HawkTooth, Berserker88** , and **Cimar of Turalis WildeHopps** for your latest reviews! I appreciate the thoughtful feedback._

 _And thank you to everyone who reads, faves, and follow. Enjoy this little slice of Zootopia._

 _Happy reading ~ Euphonemes_

* * *

 _Off the Trail_

 _Chapter 6 - Old Habits Die Hard (A Companion to "Run": Chapter 5: Part IV)_

"'Oh, it's just a _few_ posters,' he says. 'It's only one city block,' he tells me. Hmph. I'm gonna get you for this, Nick Wilde."

The untrained eyes of passersby would have seen a stack of fifty glossy posters walking itself down the street. The resilient face of Judy Hopps gleamed in the noonday sun as the stack of posters bobbed and weaved between the legs of pedestrians. Every few feet, the stack would stop, and one would lift off from the pack and attach itself to the brick walls of the buildings that lined this street.

Of course, a stack of posters walking itself down the street was patently ridiculous. No, a curious mammal simply had to look behind the posters to see a beleaguered fennec trying his best to contain posters nearly twice his size. In fact, one such curious mammal — a young hippo who had broken away from her mother's grip — peeked behind the glossy curtain and tried to touch the carrier of the posters. Finnick's low growl ensured the young hippo stayed far back.

When Finnick had first been conscripted into the veritable army of volunteers assisting Nick and Judy, he had been a reluctant soldier. Time spent with these posters meant time away from his other more profitable ventures. And it also meant more time around the two smallest police officers in Zootopia — though they were small, they still had big, shiny (and legitimate) badges. They (and by "they," Finnick meant Nick) had relegated him to duties like leaking press releases and slapping posters onto walls. It was nothing overly consuming...save for today's exercise; but, it was enough time to leave open the possibility for Finnick to slip up and share a detail about what he was truly up to these days.

One poster caught a gust of wind and took off prematurely. Finnick nearly dropped the whole stack as he jumped and grumbled some unpleasant words while retrieving the wayward face of Judy Hopps. The poster actually looked pretty good, but the gloss was cheap and slippery. It was like holding together fifty sheets of frozen pawpsicle juice (which Finnick would _never_ dream of making on his own).

"I am _so_ gonna get you for this, Wilde," Finnick vowed as he reset his stack. Nick had been calling on his old buddy more often these past few weeks. He was probably getting nervous about this whole election bit. Everyone always saw the coolness of Nick, but Finnick knew what simmered beneath that smooth exterior that had pulled off uncountable cons. The first fox police officer now managing a campaign to turn a bunny into a mayor…Nick Wilde had a lot on the line.

Really, Finnick shouldn't have been doing any of this. He shouldn't have even been _near_ Nick…or his bunny partner. Sure, he and Nick had some good times together riding around in the beat-up van that backfired every time he hit the gas. But now, Nick was different; he had to be. His _job_ demanded it. Finnick still laughed whenever he saw Nick with that badge on (a long way from the "Junior Detective" sticker), but Nick's new role in deterring crime was no laughing matter.

Yet, despite the potential threats to Finnick's income streams, Nick somehow convinced his old pal to help hang up "a few posters." _Old habits die hard_ , Finnick mused discontentedly as he pasted the next poster onto crumbling red brick.

For what it was worth, Finnick thought the rabbit was onto something. For years, he and Nick had hustled on this street, practically a treasure trove of fools easily parted from their sweet, sweet cash. And Finnick had watched this part of town take a serious beating over those years; these days, most mammals didn't head down here after dark. The place could use some perking up, and maybe (a _big_ maybe) the bunny could change a thing or two.

Just because he _might_ agree with her, though, didn't mean that Finnick didn't groan with disgust whenever the bunny talked about _opportunity_. She constantly rattled on about it, this carrot farmer's daughter talking about making everything better. Even after one year, she was still so new – so fresh – to the city. Sure, she patrolled the streets…but had she really _lived_ on them?

Perhaps that's where Nick would help her the most. A lifer – just like Finnick – who knew his way around the alleys where the real Zootopia lived. Maybe Nick could put some sense in that bunny…or at least write up a good speech so she can pretend to get it. They hadn't been too bad yet, and Finnick could easily sniff out Nick's handiwork in between all the pretty lines about _opportunity_.

Finnick reached yet another blank spot on the brick wall and readied another poster until he saw another curious mammal close to him. This tiger cub had already reached out his little paw when Finnick's eyes caught him. The tiger stopped cold, and Finnick watched as the paw started trembling.

Finnick waited. Soon enough, some mother or father would run up after chasing him down and scold him for being near a fox, or a brother or sister would shout at him to catch up and get away from _that stinky fennec_ (though fennecs generally take great pride in their self-grooming). A painfully long time passed before Finnick realized that wasn't going to happen. Instead, the cub stood alone, trembling, shaking out the wrinkles in what looked to be a shirt that had been passed down for three generations.

 _Life on the streets is hard_ , Finnick constantly reminded himself of that. It was an easy way to dodge nasty emotions like pity or grief. It had always worked for the fennec, as it had for Nick until recent events altered his perception. But something about the cub flipped a switch in Finnick's mind, and he set down the stack of posters.

The tiger quickly pointed to the topmost poster and, without a fuss, Finnick slipped it off and handed it to the tiger. "Here you go, kid. You know what you got there?"

It was probably too much to hope for this cub to be literate, but maybe the pictures would be enough to get the message across. With a heavily furrowed brow, the cub examined every inch of the poster, gasping as recognition dawned like the golden rays shooting out from behind the bunny. The cub could barely contain himself as he jumped up and down and shouted, "Opportunity!"

Finnick almost let his grimace sneak through, but the poster he shoved in front of his face saved the day. With a grunt, Finnick dismissed the cub before something mean slipped out, but he did watch as the cub's striped tail swished happily while he left. Those big bunny eyes stared confidently over the cub's shoulder and gleamed all the way down the block. Finnick thought about telling Nick what he had just witnessed, but then the fennec looked toward the stack of posters twice his size and thought better of it.

The posters were heavy as Finnick picked them back up, but something else felt a little lighter. He almost let a smile seep through…until another gust of wind blew a poster high into the air. As Finnick started leaping toward the sky, he snarled, which amused some passersby and horrified others.

"I'm still gonna get you for this, Wilde!" Finnick shouted as the face of Judy Hopps floated high above.

 _#_


	7. Chapter 7 - Woefully Underprepared

_A/N: Hello, everyone! Another drabble for you all. Let's see what's going on the life of Zootopia's favorite singer!_

 _First, some gratitude: My deepest thanks to **BookerOfWit** and **AngloFalcon** for proofing this story and ironing out a lot of trouble spots, as well as **DarkFlameWolf** for offering me some guidance on the richness of Gazelle's character. Your feedback was so helpful, and I appreciate you all taking the time to do it!_

 _Also, thanks to our latest reviewers: **HawkTooth, Berserker88,** and **Cimar of Turalis WildeHopps**. Thanks for sharing your thoughts with me!_

 _And finally, thank you to all of you who read, fave and follow these drabbles! And be on the lookout for a new chapter of Run coming soon._

 _Happy reading ~ Euphonemes_

* * *

 _Off the Trail_

 _Chapter 7 – Woefully Underprepared_

 _A Companion to Run: Chapter 6: Part I_

"…we'll need to recode the dancer here, the avatar isn't moving correctly, and — oh, she's back!"

The rooms were cramped in the startup company's studio, and she could barely fit through the doorway. It would have been a struggle for a good deal of mammals, but for the two ocelots crowding their computer screens, it must have been easy. Certainly, she and her entourage _could_ shimmy their way in – she was nearly as flexible as her dancers were – but it seemed pointless to make everyone uncomfortable. Instead, she offered to have them wait outside while she wrapped up the day's business, an offer they gratefully accepted.

Upon her entry, and after adjusting to the scents of week-old cheesy snacks and some sort of pastry, one of the ocelots eventually produced a clipboard, marking off items with wild scribbles. "Okay, Miss, eh, _Gazelle_ … I think we have all of our motion capture done for the day. With this new engine, the game's gonna look great!"

In her mind's eye, she could see what people had said about her mobile game, _Dancing with Gazelle_ :

"A rip-roaring good time; it's like you're on stage!" screamed the advertisements that bore her smiling image.

"Utter garbage and a complete waste of memory," scolded one critic on his news program.

"Gr8 gamez lol. Luv u alwayz gazelle," an overly excited user wrote after changing his profile picture to a blurry and very close-up photo of one of Gazelle's horns that no one on her staff had ever seen before; her security chief had taken another look at that.

Still, the game had performed remarkably well, and, in what had to be record time, the company had scrambled together its sequel — _Dancing with Gazelle 2: The Dancening._ Obviously, it was a completely abhorrent name, but that was a choice she had no say in; her creative team had needed her for the motions and nothing more. On the screens, Gazelle watched as her digital avatar gyrated on a stage set somewhere…underwater? It was hard to tell from her angle, set far above the ocelots.

"That is excellent news," she began in her sweetest voice, laced with a sense of urgency at wanting to leave the odd-smelling room. "Thank you so much for your time."

The fur on both ocelots rippled when she spoke. If she had to guess, they were most likely incredibly nervous. Gazelle knew she could have that effect on many of the mammals in Zootopia. She received a lot of looks, along with letters and notes, that communicated as much. She smiled as the ocelot's clipboard rattled in his shaking paw, and he looked like he wanted to ask a question.

No matter what, Gazelle did her best to accommodate. For her, it was beyond image…she just enjoyed being nice. Her industry could be so cruel, and with a past littered with the remains of good friendships gone sour and deeply satisfying romances breaking apart, the chance to connect was something she treasured.

At first, she had expected the ocelot to ask for her autograph. That would present an opportunity for her to finally learn their names: she had been working with them for several days now, but every time she inquired, they tended to freeze up and mutter at their computer screens until she would eventually slip through the door. Today, on this last day of working together, perhaps they had finally steeled themselves to say it.

Instead, he set down his clipboard, staring awkwardly at her feet. "Um, Gazelle? I have kind of a weird question for you…."

"Ssh!" chided the other ocelot. "C'mon, man, you can't seriously be thinking about asking her _that_!" He had made a show of attempting a whisper yet ensured every word was loud enough for her to hear. He must have seen this as an opportunity to make an impression and had taken it with gusto.

Doing her best to stay firmly in the room, Gazelle went on bended knee, adjusting herself so she could look the clipboard ocelot squarely in his quivering eyes. His nerves were clearly punishing him for having the audacity to speak up, so she made certain her tone was soft and soothing. "It's perfectly fine. Go ahead and ask your question."

The ocelot seemed about ready to tear off his paw. She thought about doing something to stop him from wringing them so hard, but eventually, he settled down on his own and, with a deep and shuddering breath, finally spoke. "I just need to know…between Judy Hopps and Arturo Lobos, where do you stand?"

Her autographing pen – tucked into a very tight pocket – had somehow wriggled its way out of place, as though in anticipation of being put to work. She shoved it back down as she studied the still-shaking ocelot. "Where do I stand?"

"Yeah, y'know…it's just, you were so _supportive_ of everyone during the whole 'savage' thing a year ago, and you seem so smart about these kinds of things. I've been studying both of them really hard, but I just…I can't decide."

"Oh, Jerry…." The other ocelot had gone back to his computer, clicking furiously on empty documents in a clear attempt to avoid whatever discussion was about to pop up.

With a surprising fury, Jerry wheeled around, almost shouting at his coworker. "Ben, stop! Just…"

That drew in Ben's attention. Gazelle pondered as Jerry and Ben engaged in a heated staring contest that probably occurred several times a day. Now that the issue of names had been resolved, she could devote her attention to his question. She remembered the day she had shouted from the front of the protest line after ZPD's official condemnation of predators. It had been a truly awful day, and she had meant every word in the television interview she gave when she had pleaded with her fellow Zootopians not to forget the city they all once loved.

At the epicenter of that stood a rabbit in a police uniform. Gazelle had met Officer Hopps at a function hosted by her producer. As per usual, it had been an opulent event – he had spared no expense, eager to exhibit his wealth. That had made her tremendously uncomfortable, and when she circled the outer edges of the raucous crowd cheering on the elephant downing his eighth pitcher of a strong orange concoction, she had run into the officer. The rabbit had immediately confided that she also felt out of place, and they'd enjoyed each other's company for the rest of the evening.

Miss Hopps had expressed genuine remorse for her comments on that fateful day. She'd been woefully underprepared, and that was obvious to anyone who had grown accustomed to the scrutiny of the press. Still, the rabbit had hung her head in shame, her long, gray ears drooping over her striking eyes. To ease her burden, Gazelle had shared the first time that her microphone had failed onstage.

Her first producer — promptly fired after that particular show — had not charged the mic as instructed, and Gazelle had been ten minutes into her set when the sound had cut out. The crowd of confused fans murmured with a mixture of discontentment and anticipation as she scrambled backstage, woefully underprepared to handle this glitch. Half of her had wanted to bolt, to take off for the caravan and hide under the covers of her hotel bed…but her other half had begged her to stay, to figure something out. Three nerve-wracking minutes later and the harmonies of her song had floated up from the crowd as they began to sing the words themselves. She had leaped into the crowd and belted out every tune in her repertoire for two more hours. She had told Miss Hopps that things had a way of working out, and (if the rabbit's time on late-night shows and her television interviews could be believed), they eventually did.

But at no point during their conversation had Miss Hopps ever mentioned politics. And yet, here she was, running for mayor of Zootopia. In all honesty, Gazelle hadn't been paying much attention recently: she was planning her next tour, launching a charity for the city's orphans, and attending to the programming needs of these two ocelots. She knew _of_ Miss Hopps's plans for "opportunity," and she knew a little of Mister Lobos's ideas…but really, she was woefully underprepared.

Her fur tingled as she imagined the lights of the stage again. Like before, half of her was ready to bolt for the caravan awaiting her outside the studio…but her other half begged her to stay and connect with Jerry. This shuddering ocelot clearly thought quite highly of her and her efforts to maintain a united Zootopia, and she wanted to live up to the singer who had pleaded for her fellow mammals to hold on to the Zootopia they loved.

A kind smile preceded her calming tone. "Jerry, I think you have already done a marvelous job of preparing to answer your question. You have thought about it, considered your options, and are ready to make an important decision. Listen to your heart, Jerry, and be true to yourself."

In two shakes of her tail, Jerry ceased his shuddering and began to beam. His confidence began to surface, and soon, he was standing tall. "Yes, you're right. Thank you, Gazelle…really, thank you!"

Ben sighed and mumbled something unpleasant from his spot by the computer, and Jerry was upon him with great haste. Their ensuing argument opened a perfect point for Gazelle to escape, and she promptly slipped through the door. Her tiger dancers were waiting by the entrance and escorted her to the shiny black car that would take her to the next of five more meetings she had prepared today.

She slid into the plush seat, and her dancers closed the door. Every sound in the city was muted by the airtight windows, and Gazelle took pleasure in the total silence. She used her momentary reprieve to consider Jerry's question…and how much she still needed to learn. Her time with Miss Hopps had been memorably pleasant, and a natural curiosity prodded her to action.

She pulled out her phone and, after swiping away the beta-level of _The Dancening_ , navigated to the home page of "Judy Hopps for Mayor." Emblazoned in bold letters on the top of her screen was " _Opportunity!",_ a term Gazelle knew a little something about.

"Time to read…" Gazelle said to herself as she began her scrolling while the car merged into traffic. Acceleration tugged at her, but she was already too lost in the thoughts of Miss Hopps to notice. A soft smile emerged as she thought about Jerry and what she had done for him with a few words...and what more could be done for others. For the next Jerry, she would not be underprepared.

 _#_


	8. Chapter 8 - Yeah, It's Laverne

**_A/N:_** _Okay, so finally, we have another entry for "Off the Trail"! This one was fun to whip up. I hope you enjoy it!_

 _Thank you very much to those of you who reviewed most recently, including **Combat Engineer,** **Berserker88, Cimar of Turalis** **WildeHopps,** and **Hawktooth.** I love hearing your thoughts on these short takes!_

 _And thanks to everyone who reads, faves and follows. Hope you're enjoying this journey as much as I am!_

 _Best - Euphonemes_

* * *

 _Off the Trail_

 _Chapter 8 - Yeah, It's Laverne_

 _A Companion to Run: Chapter 6: Parts II & III_

"Pronk, y'know our neighbor's famous now, right?"

"Who?"

"The bunny next door."

"The little one?"

"What… _yes_ , the little one! How many other bunnies live next door to us?"

"Oh, whatever. Betcha think you're really smart, knowing that?"

"Smarter than you!"

And so began the argument that consumed the next ten minutes in the apartment of Bucky and Pronk, a kudu and an oryx pitted against the world. Well, pitted against _each other_ , chiefly. Two fiery tempers with no business being near one another had met by happenstance in line at a coffee shop not six blocks from their current residence. Time had woven its way around them, and soon, they were seeking out a place together "in the heart of downtown," to be as close to the "action" as possible. One of them – which one exactly was irrelevant at this point – suggested the cabinet that passed as a room at Grand Pangolin Arms.

Over the next few years, miracle after miracle must have occurred to keep them from annihilating each other and the room in the process. Near-constant fighting — vicious in tone but honestly devoid of malice — had driven out half a dozen neighboring tenants. Not one mammal could withstand the fury of their arguments…until the little bunny had arrived on the scene.

When What's-Her-Face had moved in, Bucky and Pronk had conducted themselves with their typical and total lack of decorum. They had arranged a bet between themselves on how long the bunny would last. Alas, she had survived far longer than anticipated, and winless Bucky and Pronk had gotten to keep their money.

Recently, more noise had been coming from her side of the paper-thin wall. A lot more talking than usual had the two of them curious…though Bucky was the one who had been more interested in acting on it. His eavesdropping had initiated a few loud discussions over the past couple of days, though fortunately, the bunny hadn't been home. She was busy with something, even if Pronk hadn't yet placed a hoof on what it was.

Occasionally, tempers would cool enough to allow for quieter conversation – nothing too complex, but enough to engage one another for a softer minute or two and reveal some measure of tenderness. And after they argued the air out of their lungs, one such moment was born.

Bucky started them off by tapping a quizzical hoof on the wall. "Should we, like, get to know her or something?"

Pronk barely hid his contempt for the idea. They had lasted a year without launching into any real conversation, save for the snippets gathered through the paper-thin wall. And he saw no reason to start now. His eyebrows climbed high as he asked, "Why would we do that?"

"Well, It's just…what if she wins?"

Pronk was completely lost but had no intention of communicating that to Bucky. " _So what_ if she wins?"

"Wouldn't it be nice to know the mayor?"

"Well…." _So that's what she's doing._ Politics bored him — and usually Bucky — to tears, but he had to admit that Bucky had the right idea. Getting in good with a potential mayor now could have some benefits down the road. But while his head wanted to congratulate Bucky, his mouth had a different idea. "Wait, do you even know her name?"

Pronk had witnessed a host of expressions cross Bucky's face over the years. The flash of anger that darkened into confusion and slight panic at drawing a blank had graced Bucky's face plenty of times before. "Of course I do, don't be an idiot. It's…."

As it turned out, an impatient hoof could make a fair amount of noise tapping on a vinyl floor. Pronk hammered away at the ground until he heard the familiar thump of the broom handle the old badger below them used to futilely try to silence them. "Still waiting."

"Fine! Then _you_ tell me what it is!"

"Okay, I will. It's…." Bucky had actually worn that particular look of blankness quite well. Pronk felt that his turn with it was a little lackluster, his jaw not slackening enough as he racked his brain for a name. Muffled and barely-understood pieces of the rabbit's many conversations with guests and on the phone all battled for supremacy until one choice — the clearest choice — emerged. "Laverne."

Bucky laughed, though it sounded like a short cough. Only seventeen things would heat Pronk's blood faster than that particular laugh. "Laverne? Out of _anything_ to guess, you pick Laverne?"

"Yeah, it's Laverne! It's not a guess! I heard her say it before."

"Oh really? When was that?"

"When she was talking to her…parents."

"So you were spying on her?"

"Oh yeah, like you can talk! You're the one whose ear is always stuck to that wall!"

And after this next argument — with Bucky and Pronk making the very air shudder with their invectives — burned itself out over the span of three minutes, they found another peaceful moment to share their thoughts on how best to open a conversation with Laverne. Bucky figured that inviting her over to one of their two-mammal Thursday night raves would smooth things over. Pronk was of a more timid mind, thinking a nice dinner of reheated noodles (with a pad of margarine on top for garnish) would suffice. Inevitably, each shot down the other's brilliant plan.

"Okay, fine, Bucky. This is your idea. What are we gonna do about it?"

Pronk figured that putting his partner on the spot would end this line of dialogue once and for all. So rarely could Bucky surprise him after time had wound itself around them so tightly.

Today, however, would be a rarity. "I'm just gonna go over there, knock on Laverne's door, and say hello."

The simplicity of it all was tremendously shocking. And to have it delivered not as a shout but rather as a reasoned discussion left Pronk's jaw terribly slackened. He was genuinely surprised; but, he couldn't necessarily _show_ as much. "Alright, fine! March over there and knock on her door."

"Okay, I will!" His hooves made a terrible racket as he clopped across the vinyl flooring and threw open the door. Through the paper-thin walls, Pronk tracked the kudu's movements as he shuffled down the hall — only about four or five steps required — and banged three times on the door.

Pronk wondered if the rabbit were even home…in fact, a part of him hoped she wasn't. Sadly, the "listening through the wall" trick worked both ways. Given the ferocity and the subject of this latest argument, Laverne might take issue with answering her door and dealing with the two of them.

Apparently, though, she would not take issue quite yet. The tiniest of tremors shook the wall as the deadbolt slid out of place. The lock clicked, and Pronk heard the muffled voices of Laverne and his much noisier partner. They chatted — a few lines of dialogue — and Bucky maintained what sounded like an even keel throughout it. It was incredible…and Pronk actually clung to a sliver of jealousy as Laverne and Bucky spoke.

It must have lasted only fifteen or twenty seconds, and then Pronk caught the clopping hooves coming back down the hallway. When he had left, Bucky's hooves had made a regular and strong sound, driven by his incensed determination to prove Pronk wrong. But his return was softer, with subdued and varying steps. Pronk braced for whatever would walk through that door.

Bucky didn't say much as he dragged himself past Pronk and plopped down on their couch whose cushions had frayed, victims of the excess of Thursday night bacchanals. Their apartment was quiet for nearly a full minute, which had to be a record. Pronk, however, would not let the silence linger, and he joined Bucky on the couch and asked about his endeavor.

"So…?"

"Caught her on her way out. Going to some party."

"Okay. And?" Pronk would ask four more times before he received his reply.

"…her name's not Laverne."

A nervous hoof tapping on the vinyl sounded very similar to an impatient one. It probably sounded the same to the old badger below as she put a little more force behind her broomstick. Bucky's hoof needed to relax — a release from what had to be incredible embarrassment. Pronk wanted to help… and knew just the way to do it.

"I _knew_ it."

The couch coughed up dust as Bucky flew up from the cushions, leering over Pronk as he rose more delicately. " _You_ told me her name was Laverne! Are you kidding me!"

Bucky let a ferocious fire burn, which made Pronk happy…but he couldn't _show_ it, of course. Other opportunities to acquaint themselves with the potential future mayor would arise. For now, though, Pronk would enjoy this special argument with Bucky in the cabinet they called home.

"Well, if you weren't sure, you shouldn't have called her that!"

"Then why tell me!"

"You wanted an answer!"

"Oh, an answer! Let me tell you something…."

#


End file.
